Loving a Beast
by Indigo Ziona
Summary: Draco spurns a visitor, and finds himself in a faraway land drastically needing a manicure. Only one girl can save him. A Beauty and the Beast story.


_Disclaimer – Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and Beauty and the Beast belongs to Disney and the Brothers Grimm. Thanks to AgiVega who set a crossover challenge and got my brain going._ **Loving a Beast** Draco should have known better. Left alone in Malfoy manor, the House Elves squeaked for his authorisation to let in a poor lonely old woman who'd been out in the cold and lost her way. He had been unimpressed by the tale, even as told by weeping House Elves who were, if it were possible, worse than Dobby. He had been in the middle of a book – a surprisingly amusing Muggle work that his father would destroy if ever he found it. He was angry at being distracted by a phoney old woman, and threw the book aside in frustration, marching downstairs as behind him, a House Elf scuttled to pick the book up and dust off its sparkly cover. Draco stormed up to the door. It was cold and windy outside, and the old woman really did look old and weak, but if she had found Malfoy manor, she must at least be a witch. "What do you want?" he demanded. "I'm sorry to trouble you, young master, but I've lost my way home – my wand blew out of my hand and I haven't the faintest idea where I am. My house has no Floo connection, and I'm too old to Apparate. Might I stay for the night? I only need blankets and a mattress or a sofa…" Draco scowled. True, they had more than adequate provisions for such a guest, but she was probably intending to steal from them or spy on them. "No," Draco said shortly. "Besides, you'll expect this for free, I expect." "Not so," the old woman smiled. She held out a rose. "I cut this rose this morning. It's a beauty, isn't it?" Draco didn't even look at it. "Is it magical, or expensive, or what?" "Neither, I'm afraid," the old woman said. "Might I at least Floo somewhere else, if staying here is too much trouble?" "Go away," he sighed. "Stop wasting my time." He went to close the door, but the old woman stopped the door with her hand. "Would I interest you more if I looked like this?" She shimmered, and changed into a beautiful woman. Her face was perfectly sculpted – glowing green eyes with thick silken eyelashes, an aristocratic nose, a pair of pink, slightly pouting lips, a crown of cascading liquid golden hair, and the perfect figure, curving and narrowing in all the right places. Draco gulped. Then he smiled. "That was a very good joke," he laughed. "Now my love, I think I know where you'll be sleeping tonight." The woman did not smile. She frowned. "You, young master, are one of the most selfish creatures I've ever come across. When you see nothing to gain, you spurn those in need, and you cannot appreciate the beauty in a simple rose. You see women as objects for your own amusement. You deserve to be taught a lesson." Draco didn't know what to think. She had the audacity to say that to him, Draco Malfoy? Her green eyes were aflame, and he suddenly had the inkling that he had made a very serious mistake. She raised her hands. Balls of golden fire flamed in each of them, then showers of golden light ascended upon him – then, with a crackle, the world crumbled. ~ Draco awoke. He was lying in a bed with a very furry quilt cover. Or he was in very furry pyjamas. And he'd had a very odd dream. His eyes focused. The ceiling didn't look right. Where had he been the night before? Was he in a girl's bed? He chuckled to himself. She'd better be good looking. He crawled out of bed, wondering how he felt clothed, yet naked. Draco saw himself in the mirror, and screamed. Or rather, he roared. He was an animal. A beast. His body was covered in shaggy brown fur and his face contorted into a snout. He had huge, sharp, yellowing teeth, and his perfect hands were rough paws, with claws. And he didn't know where he was. He padded over to the window, hating the feeling of his hard, furry feet. He felt like a hobbit, but more dangerous. He looked outside, and saw that he was in a castle, high up in an upper room. The castle seemed a dreary affair, dark and in the middle of a thorny forest. He examined the room, and saw that there was a large oaken wardrobe. He pulled open the door of it, to reveal fine but old fashioned clothing. Draco made a valiant attempt to dress himself – he pulled trousers halfway up his misshaped legs, and a dress-shirt on one arm, whilst ripping holes in them with his cumbersome claws. It was no good. Draco would have to face the world naked. He grasped the door clumsily, and bounded out – on all fours – to the rest of the building. Catching himself, Draco decided to draw himself upright. It was more difficult to walk this way, but a Malfoy should never find himself on all fours. He was in a narrow corridor, lit by candles. Shady portraits glared at him along the way. He walked past doors, not really sure of where he was going. He went up some stairs, and looked out of a window along the way – he was in the highest, probably on the west corner of the castle. He pushed open a door. Ahead of him were more portraits, all unfamiliar except one. It was of himself. Or at least, it was how he had been before he had been changed. His imperious eyes glared out from that alabaster face. Draco stopped for a moment to admire it. He had certainly looked good. Ahead of the portrait was an archway, and within it, a form he couldn't quite make out. He walked forward. There was a rose, glowing bright in unnatural beauty. It looked – familiar. A twinkling star flew around the room like a firefly. He squinted at it curiously. It exploded, and in its place stood a beautiful woman. "How do you like your new home?" she asked coolly, but with a slight smile. Draco's anger came down in torrents. "What have you done to me? You – you – hag!" She laughed. "I'm teaching you a lesson. You'll stay here until you've learned a lesson – or until you've decided you'll never learn it. The rose will bloom – for a time. As your time runs out, it will wilt." "What do you want me to do?" Draco gasped, horrified. "You will learn to love another – and earn her love in return. Not lust after, not desire, not want her selfishly and not treat her as an object. Love – that is the condition. When the rose wilts, you will be doomed to remain like this forever." She gave an impish smile. "You have a magic mirror, if you miss having magic around you. Good luck." Then she vanished. Draco howled. He tore at the paintings, even the one of himself. He broke the ornaments. He would have cried, had he been able. Love? Draco didn't think it existed. And even if it did, people certainly didn't love beasts. ~ Draco met the servants an hour later, when the tea-lady had come to the bedroom where he languished, feeling that all was lost. There was a knock, and he grunted in reply. "It's Mrs. Potts with the tea, master," came the warm sounding voice from outside, and Draco pulled open the door, unhinging it with his previously undiscovered strength. He saw no one outside. "Down here, sir," said the voice, and he looked down. It was a peculiar and rather disturbing sight. A teapot, with a smile, flanked by a milk jug, a sugar bowl and a rather cheeky looking chipped teacup. "Don't be alarmed, sir – I just came with tea to make your acquaintance. Milk and sugar?" Very much alarmed, Draco nodded, and the teacup jumped into his open palm. "Hi!" it squeaked. "I'm Chip!" Draco gave it a look of revulsion. He put it down on a tabletop. One should never drink from talking teacups. "How did you get here?" he asked the teapot. "My husband passed away, sir," she said. "An old lady said she could get me a job – she said there would be hard conditions and – well, begging your pardon, sir, but a possibly a difficult master. I said I didn't mind that – I looked after my husband when he got ill, and he was difficult enough, though he had a good heart. She asked me what I was best at, and – well. I said making tea." She smiled. She didn't look particularly put out by it. "I became a teacup!" the teacup giggled. "I prefer coffee," Draco grunted, and Mrs. Potts looked terribly disappointed. "Are there others… like you?" "Plenty," the teapot said. "Lumière – I think he was a footman, Cogsworth – he might be a butler… There's a terribly flighty featherduster, and a wardrobe in one of the rooms that boasts something terrible, sir." "I will meet them," Draco growled, and he allowed the teapot and her supporting crockery to lead him down to a main hall. He learned, much to his dismay, that he was to be served by a staff composed entirely of household objects, who were prouder than House Elves and tended to sing. Lumière the candlestick was teaching the dishes to dance. ~ After a couple of months being served by this motley crew, Draco had made no effort to fulfil the demands placed upon him. One couldn't do the impossible, and so instead, he resolved to embrace his beastliness, learning to stalk and growl and pounce on small creatures. The kitchen staff were disappointed at his desire to eat only creatures he had caught himself – but then, he couldn't handle cutlery anyway. His life consisted of prowling, hunting and sulking. The servants soon learned not to bother him. *** Virginie Weslée walked into the village, enjoying the beautiful sunny day. It was a lovely place – such a quiet village, every day like the one before. All the people led such little lives, too, contenting themselves with buying and selling and relaxing in the tavern. It was beautiful, but Virginie was bored. She went into town every day – the baker would say the same things no matter what she said, the town's girls would giggle over Gaston, the man with the massive ego, and they would all give her a look which plainly read, "She's odd." "Good morning, 'Ginie," said the Baker brightly. "Good morning," she responded, although she had to stop herself saying his next line for him. "Where are you off to?" he asked, filling his tray with buns and rolls. "The bookshop…" She had to elaborate – the book had got her so excited. Surely he'd have to react to it. "I finished a wonderful story about a boy who finds out he's a wizard, and he…" "That's nice." She could have said it for him – and he turned to the hatch of his shop, and she chanted with him, "Marie! The baguettes! Hurry up!" She sighed, and carried along her way. She could see people whispering around her. Were they talking about her? At the bookshop, she came in to see the only man in the town who, apart from her papa, did not seem to be some sort of stereotype. "Bonjour, Mademoiselle Weslée," he said. He was old and wizened. He seemed to know her better than he should. "Bonjour Monsieur Ollivand," Virginie responded, and put the book on the counter. "I enjoyed it very much – are there more?" "Oh yes, Mademoiselle – I know every book I own, and there are more." He pulled a book down from the shelves. "There. Your hero has a little admirer in this book – she sends him a Valentine's card with a poésie drôle in it." Virginie laughed a little. "There was a time when I would have been that little admirer." "But not anymore?" "Not anymore," she smiled. "Though I should like to be his friend. He has adventures." "Certainly, he does," Monsieur Ollivand said. "Enjoy your book, mademoiselle, au revoir." "Salut," Virginie said, and left with her book tucked inside her basket. She was looking forward to a long afternoon lost in her book, and her trip home would have been uneventful had she not stopped to pet the sheep. She was telling them excitedly about her book when Gaston approached. "Virginie!" She tried not to look up. He grabbed her book. "How can you read this? There are no pictures!" "Give me my book back," she sighed. "It's time you stopped reading and started paying attention to more important things…" Virginie could see what was coming. "Like me." Bingo. "Why don't we take a walk down to the tavern – and take a look at my trophies?" "Some other time. In the distant future, perhaps," Virginie said. She leapt up and grabbed her book. "Leave me alone, Gaston. I'm not interested." "Have to go home and help your father?" he asked, with a knowing smile. Lefou, Gaston's lackey, gave a snort. "Crazy old loon! Needs all the help he can get." They laughed. "Don't talk about my father that way," Virginie snapped, and Gaston demonstrated aptly his two-facedness, by slapping Lefou. "Don't talk about her father that way!" She rolled her eyes. "I'm going home." ~ Virginie's father was widely reputed to be crazy, but apart from a single-minded fondness for meddling with machines, he was perfectly sane. That day, he was tinkering in the garden on the most peculiar device. "Hello papa," Virginie called. "What's that?" "It's a horseless carriage," he replied. "Unfortunately I still need a horse to get it to the fair." "Do you think it'll win?" "I don't know," he replied, smiling. "They'll say it's meddling with nature, probably. Did you have a nice time in town today?" "Yes, apart from Gaston. I got a new book." "Another with your young hero in it?" Virginie nodded. "I like him, I wish he was my friend. The people in the village think I'm odd." "Odd?" Monsieur Weslée looked shocked. "My daughter? You're not odd! Now – could you help me tie up this horseless carriage on the trailer for the horse?" *** Draco was having one of his darker days. For good reason too – a petal had fallen from the rose. His time was nearly over. Would he die, he wondered, or become so beastlike he'd forget what it was like to be human? He was already forgetting. He did not feel so much like a boy anymore – he was a hunter and a prowler. But sometimes the memories came back, just clearly enough to be painful. He had allowed himself a look at the torn portrait of himself, and for a few seconds, imagined he was looking in a mirror. But he wasn't, and he howled. He could never escape. Late in the evening, he heard a commotion downstairs. He ran down and discovered his servants – the cheek of them! – tending a man who appeared to have come in from the cold. At least House Elves asked permission. Draco tore down the stairs and pounced upon the man, who recoiled in surprise and horror. "Why are you here?" he growled. "Why did you presume upon my hospitality?" The man cowered. Then Draco looked more closely at the face – he was in his forties or fifties, balding with red tufts of hair sticking out. It was Arthur Weasley. For a sudden, irrational moment, Draco panicked that Weasley might recognise him. But he didn't. He just stared, in horror and revulsion. "I'm sorry," he spluttered. "I didn't mean – I was lost and…" "Silence!" Draco roared. He hauled Weasley by the arm, followed by the protesting servants, whom he ignored. He dragged Weasley to the north tower, and threw him into a cell. "Here's a room for the night," he growled, and stalked off. ~ The next night, another intruder got in. This one was much more interesting. He overheard the conversation as he approached… There was a voice he knew well. "Papa – what has he done to you? Your hands are so cold – we have to get you out…" "Listen – get out of here. I can't allow him to catch you too. Please…" Draco rounded the corner. Ginny Weasley was tending to her father. He'd thought, if anyone, it would be one of the older boys who would find their father, but instead, that little girl came. Not so little now, of course, but still very young and naïve. "Why don't you do as he says?" he growled. "Too much Gryffindor courage?" She frowned at him, not understanding. "Let my papa go," she said, her voice strong and commanding. Her eyes held the same revulsion he had seen in her father's – he was hideous, and she could see that. She couldn't see who he was. "Why should I?" Draco snarled back. "He trespassed here. I can do what I like…" "No, you can't! He hasn't done anything to you…" She was looking him right in the eye. Draco wondered how she could stand it – he had broken every mirror he saw in rage. "If you won't let him go…" Would she cast a hex on him? Potter had taught her many hexes and jinxes, and for the first time in a while, Draco missed his magic. Ginny paled, and she stood up straight. "You must take me instead." She caught Draco off guard. "Take you?" He barked at her, baffled. "Why should I – you would take his place?" He barely dared to hope but – might she break the spell? Could he ever learn to love her? It would never happen. But… She was not the prettiest thing he had ever seen – but she was pretty. Her eyes were tranquil brown, and she had rather pretty freckles over her turned-up nose. There was the merest little chance that it might happen. He had faded out the outside sounds of protest and argument from father and daughter. Now he tore open Weasley's cell, pulled him down the stairs and threw him into a thestral driven carriage. "Take him to – wherever he lives." He turned back to the castle, and climbed back up to the cell. Although it was unlocked, Ginny was sitting on the cold floor inside it resolutely. Locking up Weasley was all very well, but he had to actually be courteous to the daughter. He took a deep breath. "I'll show you your room," he said. *** Virginie felt desolate. This beast was being strange towards her – he seemed to want some kind of perverse romance – the thought sickened her more than being with Gaston. She was comforted at least by the presence of kind Mrs. Potts, and the friendly wardrobe, who could chatter about clothes for hours. But she would never see her Papa again. About half an hour after she had had a blazing row with the Beast, during which she refused to eat with him and he told her she could starve, she decided to venture out. He had told her she could go wherever she liked – except for the west wing. She would, of course, head to the west wing as soon as she could, but first, she was hungry. Would the servants let her have anything? She could only ask. She tiptoed down to the kitchen, and was greeted by a flurry of animate objects. "I am Cogsworth," announced a proud little carriage clock – and a candlestick started to kiss her hand. "This is Lumière," he added, reluctantly. "You must eat!" Lumière insisted. "The plates will be delighted – I have been rehearsing them for weeks!" *** Draco was disappointed by the night's progress. Ginny had proved stubborn, refusing to cooperate. After moping in the snow on the roof for a while, he decided to check on the rose. He padded to the west wing, and saw movement. The little minx… She was reaching for the rose! What if she knocked out more petals? In a rage, Draco burst through. "What are you doing here?" he roared. "Do you know what you could have done?" She quailed and trembled. Then, she ran away. ~ Cogsworth told him she had gone. "She took her cloak, and ran out into the snow, sir," he said. He was trembling – plainly expecting an explosion. Draco merely grunted. "She'll probably freeze to death," he snarled. Cogsworth scuttled out. Curiosity got the better of him, and he picked up the magic mirror – the only mirror he hadn't broken as it never showed him his face – and demanded to see Ginny. He saw her struggling through the snow – then a wolf leapt out from the trees and she was running… She would be killed. It was her fault, of course. Yet, Draco felt strangely anxious. She would be hurt. He swallowed, but the lump remained in his throat. It would be his fault. Scarcely knowing what he was doing, he bounded down the stairs and out of the castle. He could smell Ginny – in the air, on the snow. He could smell wolves. He leapt upon them and dug in his claws, hearing their yelps but also their howling. She was standing amidst them, fighting with a stick and screaming with fear. He fought and struggled – and at last they retreated. He fell onto the soft blanket of coldness beneath him and decided he would die right there. *** He had saved her life. She didn't understand. She tended to his wounds, and they argued. They didn't talk about what had happened. He knew her pet name somehow, although he pronounced it with a harder 'g' – perhaps it was just how he spoke. She couldn't understand what or who he was… But his eyes, they were so very blue – so human. Virginie needed to understand. *** He had saved her life. Inside, his conscience, who had just woken up after a long sleep, sardonically expressed its surprise. And she had tended to his wounds so gently. Why? They began to talk to each other – with courtesy, like friends, even. The next day he led her around the castle and showed her the interesting things he'd noticed on his more 'human' days. They went into the garden, and she threw a snowball at him. He laughed and pounced on her. She had gasped, fright in her eyes, and he realised he'd forgotten how frightful he was. Draco withdrew, depressed… She would never love a beast. Nevertheless, he did come to enjoy her company. She had a lovely wit, and a raucous spirit – he found her compelling. He even found himself apologising – his father would have disapproved immensely – for that awful first night, and inviting her to dinner properly. It was to be a special occasion for him – he had himself a suit made, and was groomed for the evening. She wore a beautiful green velvet dress, and her eyes sparkled. He felt happy, for the first time in a long time. Perhaps ever. It had occurred to him that as a Slytherin he had had alliances, arrangements and partnerships, but he had never had a friend, especially not one like Ginny. There was music playing in the background. It would be good to talk over, but Draco soon discovered Ginny had other ideas – she pulled him to his feet, with the intention of dancing. Draco could dance, of course, but he had not tried it since becoming a beast, and he was nervous. The music grew louder, and she looked into his eyes with trust – a look that Draco had never seen before. He forgot his fears, and they danced. ~ Afterwards, he took her to a balcony seat, where they could sit and look at the stars. He just wanted to look at her, his friend. She had never heard of alliances and allegiances – she was just willing to like him for who he was – beast and all. He had never been so happy. But suddenly, a shadow came across the earth – she looked sad. "What's wrong?" he asked her. She shrugged. "It's nothing." "Please, Ginny – what's wrong?" She looked apologetic. "I miss Papa. I haven't seen him for so long." Draco wondered why she called her father that old fashioned name. He saw a tear streak her cheek, although she hastily wiped it away. "Wait here," he said, and ran to get the magic mirror. When he had it, he gave it to her. "This mirror will show you your father. Just ask it to." "Please show me my father," she said, and she saw the glass ripple like water, and then her father appeared. Arthur Weasley had fallen in the forest, and looked weak – Ginny gasped and so did Draco. Somehow she had softened him – he was concerned for her father, even worried. "I have to go to him," she said. "He may be ill – he may die!" Draco's heart softly tore in two. He couldn't let Ginny go – he would die of unhappiness. But he couldn't let her be unhappy – he would claw his own eyes out in self-hatred. He took a deep breath. "Go to him," he said. "Take whatever you need. And please – don't forget me." She looked at him, barely understanding what he had just done. "Can I? May I?" "Go," he said. She got up, and stroked his fur. "Thank you… Before I go – please tell me your name." He might as well tell her. Then she would know, and maybe understand. "Draco," he grunted. "Draco," she said. She did not seem to recognise the name. Somehow, she did not know who he was. "I hope we meet again, someday." She walked out of the room. He had let her go. He would be doomed – but that was of no consequence, he couldn't survive without her anyway. And she would be happy, which was something. "You did something unselfish," murmured his conscience, surprised. "I love her," he replied. ~ Three times afterwards, he found himself thinking, "It's all over". Firstly, when Ginny left. Secondly, when the rabble from the village arrived bent on killing him – Cogsworth warned him, but dying in battle would be better than dying of a broken heart. Lastly, when he lay back after being stabbed by the head yob, light headed with the loss of blood and the joy of seeing Ginny again, and he realised he was going to die. "Don't leave me Draco," she sobbed. He was surprised she even cared. She lay by him, and he drifted off, and in the distance a voice said, "I love you…" "It's all over," thought the servants, as they watched the last petal fall from the rose that wasn't a rose anymore. ~ Draco drifted… and awoke, lying on a grass bank, staring up at deep blue sky, somewhere. A small figure was nestling in his arms. There was red hair. "Ginny," he said gently. She looked up. "Draco," she said softly. "I really don't understand what's going on." "Neither do I," he said. "Was it real?" Ginny laughed. "I don't think it can be. I'm not a French peasant girl…" "And I'm not a beast…" How wonderful it felt to be human… his face was smooth, his body uncontorted. "That is a matter of debate," Ginny said sternly, and he looked at her fondly. It couldn't have been a dream… his feelings for her were so very real… "Ginny?" "Yes?" "I love you." He held her close, and kissed her cheek, gently. He had never thought he would say those words. Ginny smiled, gently. "You really are human." Draco found himself grinning. "My father will kill me." *** Somewhere in a land far away, a woman woke her little boy up after a long sleep. "I dreamt I was a teacup!" he burst out, with laughter. "Did you now?" his mother said. "Well, of all the absurd things… Come and have your breakfast, Chip." **The End** _You may be wondering why Ginny got to play the role of 'Beauty' rather than Hermione. There were several reasons – firstly, Ginny's always struck me as more romantic that Hermione. It was she who had a crush on Harry without even meeting him, who sent him a Valentine's card and defended him before Malfoy. Also, Hermione may read a lot but she doesn't seem to ever read fiction – Belle's certainly not an intellectual, and she enjoys stories rather than facts. Also, as Chamber of Secrets may have shown, Ginny can easily get herself involved with dangerous men. Lastly, Arthus Weasley does seem rather like Maurice to me. Please review._


End file.
